THE WORST OF LOVE  CONTESTANT

Sunlight melted frost from their feet. Wallace watched her blonde strands blow in the autumnal breeze.  Cotton clad her figure, but from this distance it appeared as silk, the way it shone and outlined her curves.

Anne stared back with eyes of coal and the hint of smile he’d fallen in love with.

Ravens collected on her arms worshipping her savage beauty. It had been this way since time began, a sea of cornstalks separated them.
A speckled dove, Anne’s favorite, landed on his outstretched arms, hopped upon his shoulder, and nibbled at his hat. He laughed and hoped the bowing cornstalks would carry it to his blonde beauty across the fields.

The dove finished pecking his hat, nestled his face, and cooed into his ear. Wallace smiled at the message and whispered his own. It stretched it wings and flew. As he watched it fly over the fields, he felt a pang of sadness. They would never be together. Not the way he or she wished.

They were destined to their poles overlooking the earth, caged guardians.

The dove lighted upon Anne’s shoulder. He saw her eyes sparkle in the morning light.

A bark of voices drew his attention. Two men led horse and carriage. They laughed and joked not minding the stalks they strode over.
A murder of crows flew from Wallace’s feet as the carriage approached, halted. One of the men hauled a ladder. “Yep, it’s a pity for the young princess. I don’t know what kind of magic they’s up against, but we’ve done run outta straw. The princess insisted on more.”

He placed the ladder against Wallace’s pole. “Yeah? Well, I heard that they’s are also trying to figure out names and comin’ up with weird one’s they are!”

Wallace heard twine snip. The upper half of his body fell forward.
“I hear,” said the man holding the horse. “That some evil gnome is trying to kidnap the baby.”

Another snip of twine and Wallace fell like a rag doll.

Wallace! Anne’s voice called for him. Ravens and grackles cawed.

So this is it, he thought, it’s the end.

The man tossed him into the carriage; Wallace’s face hit the wooden side.

Moans and weeping sifted up from the pile beneath him. Others? He thought, how many others?

Wallace! Anne’s voice cried out again. The doves mourned.

He couldn’t hear the men above the rumble of the carriage and the mass of weeping beneath him. Wallace thought of Anne. Her blonde straw contrasted to her white form, her dark eyes, and teasing smile. He would never see her again. Never.

The cart stopped. They were lifted and tossed into a wheelbarrow, then wheeled into the castle. Wallace watched in amazement as they rolled through a labyrinth of stone walls and candlelight. Finally, they entered a tiny room. A spindle stood in the middle. A candle licked the darkness beside it. 

Lifted and tossed, Wallace landed with his back propped against the wall. He saw two piles on the floor, the lesser a heap of straw bodies, the larger spun gold. It pooled into golden chains cascading across the dirty floor.

Murder! Murder! cried the voices of  the straw folk. The room reeked of screams and silent accusations.

Wallace closed his eyes to their screams and horror of the sharp spindle’s needle. The door slammed shut, bolted. He thought of Anne. Her soft kisses blown across the fields.

A clank of bolts echoed and the door opened. Another wheelbarrow came in.

“It’s the last of ‘em,” said a gruff voice.

Something soft was tossed on his lap. It wept. Its cry pricked his ears. The door shut.

“Wallace,” her voice whispered above the cries.

He opened his eyes, and there in his lap laid Anne. The glow of candlelight illuminated those coal eyes.

“Anne,” he whispered. Willing all his power and muscles he’d never used, he raised his arm and placed his straw hand upon her brow, touching the blonde strands he’d dreamed about.

Their eyes met. It was enough that they touched, felt, needed.
Again the door opened. Soft footsteps crept in.

A sniff and a gentle, “Thank you,” caused Wallace and Anne to pause and turn to the female who entered the room. She wore a golden crown, red hair spilled down her violet dress. The princess took the fragile creature in a bundle of cream blankets. They could hear the easy breathing of the baby. 

“I love you, my son,” she whispered, then handed him back to the guard. “Take him. Hide him where we spoke.”

“Yes, my lady.”

They heard the princess’s breath catch as the guard’s footsteps whisked away, and she closed the door once more.

She lifted the candle from the chair and set it upon the floor, then pulled a straw body from a nearby pile. Her foot tapped the pedal. The wheel spun. She grasped a handful of straw and began to work. The straw man’s scream filled the room.

The princess focused on her task, oblivious.

Wallace and Anne watched mesmerized as the sparkle of golden chains spooled from the spindle.

The princess pulled straw from the bodies one by one, until the candle burned low and the shadows grew long on the wall.

Anne and Wallace looked into each other’s eyes, each speaking the thoughts and murmurs of lovers as their time approached.

We will die, said Anne.

Wallace shook his head and smiled. No, we shall be spun together, my love, two threads of gold woven into one. We shall live forever.

Anne smiled at this, and when the princess’s bleeding fingers reached for them, he saw in Anne’s eyes that she was unafraid.

The princess mixed their life’s straw together upon her lap, and the wheel began to spin. Their souls and straw merged into stardust of magic and gold.

©2009 Jodi MacArthur

Jodi MacArthur serves imagination raw on an open flame. Bring your fork to www.jodimacarthur.blogspot.com. Published online and in print, she is currently working on her first novel, Devil’s Eye.

THE WORST OF LOVE  CONTESTANT

I barreled into the parking lot and stepped out of my boyfriend’s monster truck into a cloud of dust, ready to knock his ass in it.  As I marched my way into Larry’s Landing, I headed towards the back of the bar where I spotted him….and her.  They sat close, snuggled in a booth like kittens in a box.  Their eyes popped at my presence.
 
“Hello Brent…Lynette.”  I didn’t need to say anything else, but I did.  “What the fuck?”
 
His eyes darted like beetles, desperately searching for an excuse.  Lynette’s fuchsia lips curled up, like her satin blond hair, as if delighted at the trouble she’d caused.
 
“Suzanne, I uh…I thought you were…,”
 
I cut him off.  “You told me you weren’t going to see this fat slut anymore…isn’t that what you said?  That she was a fat mistake?”  Actually, he never said these things, but apparently, we weren’t playing fair anymore.
 
“What?”  Lynette growled, malevolence ripening in her blue eyes. 
 
The fire needed a bit more fuel, I thought.  “Yeah, he said you were just an easy fuck.”
 
“You prick!”  Lynette stammered, slopping her beer over Brent’s head.
 
He leapt from his seat and mopped his face.  “That’s not true, Lynette.  I never said those things.”  He glared at me.  “Tell her I never said those things.”
 
I looked at Lynette, knowing it was too late.  “Screw you,” I said, spinning around on my black heels and then headed for the door.  Brent rushed after me, but a wink to Eddy, the bouncer who always flirted with me, granted me extra time as his boot wedged into Brent’s shin, flattening him in the doorway. 
 
I jumped back into Brent’s jacked-up Bronco and did an 88 in the parking lot before swinging around to the back of the bar.  Lynette stood in the middle of the road, frozen like a feeble deer.  I barely missed her foot as I came to a stop. 
 
She opened the door, hopped in, and kissed my face.  “God you were great.”
 
“I barely made it that time,” I remarked, speeding away from the bar.
 
“Did you get the apartment set up?” 
 
“Yes.  Are you sure this will work again?”
 
“Like always.”
 
“Because he’s going to kill us if it doesn’t.”
 
“Trust me,” she whispered. 
 
But that was how I got into this mess.
 
****

An hour later, we waited in my apartment, lights off, candles and smudge sticks lit around a pentacle in the middle of the floor.  A dark silhouette advanced across the street.
 
“He’s here,” I said.
 
Lynette soaked a washcloth with chloroform.  “Pull the wire when I tell you.” 
 
We watched Brent creep up the steps and slowly nudge the front door open.  Just as his foot stepped inside, Lynette gave me the cue and I snapped the wire taught, tripping Brent for the second time tonight.  She dove on top of him, covering his face with the washcloth.  His arms and feet flailed for a second before thudding back to the ground.  I felt bad for him, until I remembered his dirty lies.  At least that was how I tried to justify the situation, tonight and all the others.
 
“Okay, drag him into the circle,” Lynette said.  She laid next to him, lacing her fingers in his and dipping their hands into a bowl of water between them.  “Put the coins over the third eye,” she instructed. 
 
I placed a silver coin on both her and Brent’s forehead.  Then, Lynette began chanting, lisping syllables of ancient Latin, when she suddenly dropped unconscious.  The candles flickered and an icy chill slipped across my skin.
 
Within seconds, Brent’s eyes flipped open.  He sat up, looking at me and then to Lynette.  “It worked.”
 
It was Brent’s voice and Brent’s body, but Lynette’s spirit. 
 
He stood, grabbing his balls.  “Nice,” he, rather she said.  Brent walked over to the desk and pulled out a Ruger.
 
“The stores will be expecting you,” I said.  “This is the third time this month.”
 
“All different men, may I remind you,” she said.  “Nobody knows it’s us.”
 
But how many more men would go to jail, taking the fall for her sinful indulgence, even if they were creeps?  I loved Lynette, but I couldn’t live like this, not anymore.
 
She packed the gun into the back of Brent’s jeans and walked over to me, cupping my face with his hands.  “Don’t worry so much.  I have a different plan this time.”  She kissed me and then left the house. 
 
I looked over at Lynette’s body, where Brent’s spirit resided.  “So do I.” 
 
I laid down next to her, placing silver coins over our third eye.  I folded my hands around hers and dipped them into the water bowl.  Then, I hit play on my voice recorder.  The room went black and I woke, feeling somewhat dizzy.  Next to me was me, but now with Brent’s spirit instead of my own.  I went to the mirror, feeling my new curves and combing my blonde hair. 

“Nice.”
 
After I set up the wire and soaked the washcloth with chloroform again, I waited for Lynette’s return.  It wasn’t long before I had Brent’s body back in the center of the pentacle with my body.  However, I couldn’t switch Brent and Lynette — she would hunt me ruthlessly to get her body back, and I couldn’t leave them as is…unless, I swapped them into something else I thought gazing at the fish tank.
 
I covered up all witchcraft evidence and left the house, with two Barracudas in a bucket.  The robberies ceased and no one could ever explain Brent and Suzanne’s comatose state.  Not surprisingly, the Barracuda ate each other in a week.
 
© 2009 Erin Cole
 
Residing in Portland Oregon, Erin lives with her husband and three children.  She is working to publish her mystery novel, Unearthing Jev, and has started a sequel, Wicked Tempest, on accident.  When she isn’t writing, she is thinking about writing, and when she isn’t thinking about writing, she is either in a chocolate induced coma or is experimenting with sensory deprivation.  She blogs at Listen to the Voices.